


What Happens In Vegas

by OfficialStarsandGutters



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Day 1: AUs, GW2017A, Gallavich Week, Las Vegas, M/M, married in vegas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 18:27:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11019045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfficialStarsandGutters/pseuds/OfficialStarsandGutters
Summary: For Gallavich Week Day One: AUs.What Happens in Vegas AU.-“Please tell me what I think happened didn't happen,” Ian says, dropping down across from Lip and Mandy. He is pale and sickly looking. Fucking and falling asleep with wet hair has caused it to dry out messily; sticking in every direction. There's dark shadows beneath his eyes, and he has an ill feeling in his stomach like he's on a rocking boat. Mandy and Lip look from him, to each other, then begin to sing together.“Here comes the bride, all dressed in white!”





	What Happens In Vegas

“Shhh, shh, I think he's coming,” Ian says. “Everyone hide.”

He's in Caleb's studio with a collection of Caleb's friends; mostly men from the fire station, but some of his other friends, too. Even his ex. Ian's also invited some of his own colleagues along who have been bothering him about meeting his man; Sue, Woody and June. He's covered the studio in balloons and streamers, and has a large banner strung across the room reading: “HAPPY BIRTHDAY CALEB!” There's a selection of party food, a whole table of drinks, and an ice cream birthday cake. He's been planning this surprise party for weeks now; two days before Caleb's birthday, on his day off, so he won't be expecting it.

He crouches down behind the couch with Jason and Sue, feeling an excited twist in his stomach. Caleb does so much for him; little affectionate things like making breakfast, or packing his lunch, making sure there's always a cute love note in it. Ian's glad he finally gets to do something for him in return. Everyone is silent as the door opens and Caleb steps in. There's a few moments before the lights click on, and everyone jumps out of their hiding places.

“Surprise!”

Ian's smile only lasts a second. Caleb springs away from the woman he's with, but it's too late. Ian's already seen them; his tongue in her mouth, his hand on her ass. He swallows, anger and embarrassment making his face flush, his chest ache. Sue touches his arm, but Ian's barely aware of it. Caleb's mouth opens and closes, gaping like a shocked fish, before he goes for a charming smile.

“Oh, wow.” He laughs, and Ian feels worse. How the fuck can he pretend everything is normal when the whole room just saw him playing tonsil tennis with this woman?

“What the fuck, Caleb?”

“Ian! Did you plan this?”

“Are you fucking her?”

The woman, at least, looks embarrassed, and a little ashamed. She dips her head and stands half behind Caleb. It's more than he does, shrugging it off as if it's nothing. Ian clings to the anger so he doesn't get upset.

“It's not like that,” Caleb says.

“Outside.” Ian crosses to the door, looking back at Caleb. “We need to talk.”

“Motherfucker,” he can hear Sue say as he steps outside. Caleb murmurs something to the woman, then follows him. He smiles warmly. It makes Ian feel sick.

“Didn't know you were planning a party,” Caleb says.

“Yeah. Kinda would have defeated the purpose of a surprise party.”

“Right.”

“So?”

“So?”

“Seriously? You're not gonna say anything about that, what we all just saw?”

“It's no big deal.”

“Really? 'Cause it looked like you were cheatin' on me, and I consider that a big deal.”

“It's not cheating if it's with a woman.”

“What kind of logic is that?”

From inside the room, their argument is muffled, but still audible. Some of the firemen try to start conversations to cover it, but Sue shushes them, moving closer so she can listen. Woody and June follow her, ready to have Ian's back if necessary. She bristles as she listens to Caleb delve into a long winded spiel about how it's natural to want to sleep with a woman, but he's still gay, how it doesn't count. All bullshit. He's still talking when Ian yanks the door open.

“I'm getting' my stuff,” he tells them. June rubs his shoulder as he passes. Caleb steps into the room afterwards, sheepishly rubbing his arm.

“Well, no point wasting a party.”

Sue punches him right in the face. He stumbles back, cursing as he presses a hand to his cheek. She squares her shoulders and spits at his feet.

“Motherfucker,” she says again. Woody and June stand behind her, glaring at Caleb. He looks like he might say something, but decides against it, just walking past them quietly. Rightly so, because Sue would not hesitate to punch him again.

The three of them wait by the door for Ian, who returns with his bag full of his things. He crosses to the table, purposefully takes several bottles of alcohol, and puts them into his bag. Sue runs across to steal the ice cream cake, and they leave.

“Get hammered and binge on cake?” Sue asks.

“Yeah,” Ian says, sighing. “Sounds like a plan.”

“He doesn't deserve you, Ian,” Woody says, patting his back.

“Yeah, you deserve better than that bastard,” June adds. Ian smiles at them, but their words do little to settle the pain in his chest.

*

Mickey slumps down into the booth across from Mandy. He lifts the beer she's already bought for him and drinks half of it in one long gulp, burping as he lowers the bottle back to the table with a thud. Mandy raises an eyebrow, watching him with a frown.

“Hello to you, too, assface.”

“Hey.”

“What's happened now?”

“I got fuckin' fired.”

“From your security gig? What for?”

“Apparently bouncers ain't meant to engage in fights. The fuck? That's pretty much the job description.”

“Well, you hated that job anyway, right?”

“Yeah, but ain't like I've got a load of options. Took me long enough to find someone who'd hire me with a criminal record in the first place.” Mickey sighs, taking another sip of his beer. He runs a hand through his hair. “I don't wanna think about it tonight. I just wanna get pissed, and I'll deal with it later.”

*

“Shit man,” Lip says. “You doin' okay after that?”

“I guess.” Ian shrugs. “Rather know now than when it's more serious down the line.”

“Still, that's bullshit.”

“Yeah, well, over now.”

Lip reaches across and squeezes Ian's shoulder. Ian looks at him with a sad smile. They both raise their beer bottles and clink them together before taking long drinks. Lip hands the joint he's smoking across to Ian, and he inhales deeply.

“So, I, uh, entered this competition on Facebook,” Lip says.

“Yeah? Thought you didn't use Facebook.”

“Rarely. Anyway, it was this travel agency, and it's a big jar full of marbles. You had to guess how many was in it. So I asked them the measurements of the jar; you know, since it's hard to tell scale from a photograph. They, uh, seemed to think that was fair enough. Then I worked out the area of the container, and divided it by the area of an average sized marble.”

“Did you win, then?”

“I didn't get the number exact, but I, uh, was the nearest.”

“What's the prize?”

“A trip for two to Vegas, all inclusive.”

“Holy shit.”

“Wouldn't you much rather get over a breakup in Vegas than round here?”

“Really?”

“Eh, who else am I gonna take?” Lip grins. Ian returns it, for the first time feeling alright in the aftermath of the mess with Caleb. “So, you in?”

“'Course I'm fuckin' in.”

“To Vegas.”

“Fuckin' Vegas!”

They clink their beer bottles together, before they both drink.

*

“Hey, I know something that might cheer you up,” Mandy says.

“Doubt it, but shoot.”

“I've got this client up in Nevada, wants me to spend a week with him, offered to fly me up first class.”

“This is meant to cheer me up, how?”

“Shut up, dickbreath. I'm not done.”

“Like you can call me dickbreath when you're the professional whore.”

“ _Escort_. And you're right. You can't get a man, even when you're giving it to them for free.”

“Definitely not cheering me up.”

“If you'd let me finish. Anyway, he said he could fly me up next weekend. He's not back from business until the Monday, but he says I should bring a friend, get a hotel, spend a few days enjoying Vegas before I join him.”

“Shit. That's a sweet deal, Mands.”

“Right? So. You wanna come?”

“Come with you to Vegas?”

“Yeah. If you're gonna go on a bender, what better place to do it, right?”

“Fuck yeah, I'll come.” Mickey smiles for the first time; a wide grin breaking across his face. Mandy holds up her cocktail glass, and he clinks his beer against it.

“To Vegas!”

“To Vegas.”

They both drink.

*

“This place is massive,” Ian says, tipping his head back as he stares up at the hotel. It goes up more floors than he can count, than he can even estimate.

“Five stars,” Lip says, lifting their suitcases from the cab. “Some luxury.”

“Shit. Yeah.”

Lip leads the way inside and gets them signed in at reception. They're given their key, and turn down the bellboy that offers to carry their suitcases. The lift seems to rise for a long time before they hit their floor. The carpet in the hallways is thick, soft, and very clean.

“This is us,” Lip says. “Wanna do the honours?”

Ian smirks, and takes out his key card. He pushes it into the slot beside the door, pulls it out again, and opens the handle. He steps in first, followed by Lip. The door enters to a small sitting area with a few chairs, a table, and a TV. There's a doorway through to the bedroom, a queen size bed dominating the centre of the room. Just off this is the bathroom; complete with large bathtub with jacuzzi jets, shower with a large head and side jets from the walls, and a bidet toilet.

“Holy shit,” Ian says.

“Oh man, you've got to try the bidet out. It's a weird fuckin' experience.”

“Bid- what?”

“The toilet.”

“I've used a toilet before, Lip.”

“Not like this you haven't. It squirts you with water.”

“What the fuck? Why?”

“Hands free cleaning.”

“How lazy are rich people?”

Lip laughs. Ian grins. He toes off his shoes and leaps onto the bed, sinking into the softest mattress he's ever fuckin' experienced in his life, but still firm enough for sleeping without discomfort. He wriggles around, getting more comfortable. The sheets smell clean and slightly floral. Lip drops down on the other side, the bed so big that there's enough room for two more people between them.

“This place is amazing,” Ian says, slightly awed.

“Not too shabby.” Lip smirks. “Alright, I'm gonna grab a shower and then we can get ready to go out.”

Lip has a quick shower, and then Ian hops in after him. The water pressure is amazing, and rather than have to wait through a minute of cold, stuttering water, it comes out hot right away. While he's showering, Lip stands with a towel around his waist, fixing up his hair in the mirror. Ian's just rinsing off the shower gel when the bathroom door opens and a girl with blonde hair steps in, almost colliding with Lip who was just leaving.

“Woah,” he says, taking half a step back.

“What the _fuck_?” Without a second of hesitation, the girl punches Lip in the face.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Hey!” Ian slams off the shower and pulls open the door, forgetting his nudity in his haste to come to his brother's defence.

“Stay the fuck away from me,” the girl says viciously, hands raised and ready to strike again.

“What the fuck are you screamin' about?” says a new voice. Seconds later, a guy comes into view. His hair is dark and slicked back. He takes in the scene with bright blue eyes, and Ian remembers about his state of dress only when the guy's eyes dip down his body. “The fuck are you?”

“Found these perverts in our bathroom,” Mandy says.

“We're not perverts,” Lip says.

“And this is our bathroom,” Ian adds, pulling a towel down from the rack to cover himself.

“We have the key for it, asswipes.” The girl holds up an identical key card to the two Ian and Lip were given just twenty minutes before.

“Uh, so do we. That's kinda how we got in,” Lip says.

“Alright,” the guy says, stepping up beside the girl. “Looks like we've just been booked into the same room. This is good.”

“How is it good?” The girl looks at him with a scowl.

“'Cause if we all complain, they'll probably give us upgrades.”

“That's a pretty good idea,” Lip says.

“You mind if we get dressed first?” Ian asks.

Both the newcomers look at him with almost identical smirks. He feels a mixture of flattered and exposed, glad his skin is already flushed red from the shower, disguising his blush.

“Sure thing, firecrotch. C'mon Mands. Let's see what's in the bar.”

*

“They gonna charge us for drinkin' these?” Mandy asks, lifting one of the little bottles from behind the bar.

“Won't know who took it. Their fuck up.” Mickey cracks open the smallest bottle of Jack Daniels he's ever seen and downs it right from the bottle.

“Shit, these are the smallest bottles ever. Have to drink like twenty of these just to get a buzz.”

It's not long before the two guys come through, now dressed.

“Hey.” The shorter one waves at them. “I'm Lip, and this is my brother Ian.”

“What kinda name is Lip?” Mickey asks.

“You looked better without pants,” Mandy tells Ian.

“Thanks?” His brow furrows in confusion, like he's not quite sure if that's a compliment or not.

“It's short for Philip,” Lip says.

“Right, well, I'm Mickey, and this is-”

“Mandy.”

“Nice to meet you.” Lip smiles, eyes on Mandy, and Mickey rolls his eyes. It's been ten goddamn minutes and Mandy's already getting eye fucked. Jesus Christ. He glances up and meets Ian's eyes over the head of their siblings, watching Mickey with an amused smile. He wets his lips absently, then turns away.

“Right, so, we gonna do this or what?”

*

“I'll handle this,” Lip says, and strolls across to the reception desk.

“He always a cocky shit?” Mickey asks.

“Pretty much,” says Ian, smiling at the pair of them. “So, where are you two from?”

“Chicago,” Mandy says.

“No shit! Us too. Back of the yards.”

“That's where we grew up! We've got an apartment in the city now.”

“Cool. How'd you guys meet?”

“We're brother and sister, dumbass,” Mickey says, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh. Sorry. I didn't realise.”

“I dye my hair,” Mandy says. Though looking closer, Ian can recognise similarities in their faces. Not obvious at first, but now that he knows they're related, he can see it.

“I couldn't tell. It looks natural.”

“Thanks.” Mandy smiles warmly at him. Mickey folds his arms and rolls his eyes again.

“Penthouse suites,” Lip says, holding up new key cards for them when he returns.

“Holy shit,” says Mandy.

“Nice one, bro.” Ian slaps Lip on the shoulder.

“Gimme a minute.” Mickey heads up to the reception desk this time.

“What's he doin'?” Lip turns to Mandy. She shrugs.

“With Mickey, who knows?”

It's not long until they find out. Mickey comes back to them with his hands behind his back. They all look to him expectantly. He looks back with a faux innocent expression, then pulls out a handful of VIP passes.

“VIP, bitch.” He smiles brightly, and Ian is struck by how cute his smile is, how it crinkles his eyes, how the usual roughness of his expression melts away. Mandy squeals excitedly and jumps onto Mickey's back. He laughs and spins a circle with her, then carries her towards the elevator. Lip and Ian laugh as well, looking to each other before they follow Mandy and Mickey to their new rooms.

*

It's less than half an hour until they're in the lobby again, crossing to the exit this time, and climbing into a stretch hummer. The inside is made up of leather seats, low lighting, and a fuckin' bar. Mandy grabs the chilling bottle of champagne and shakes the cork free, almost clipping Lip's head as it fires towards the back of the car.

“Jesus, Mandy.”

“Whoops.” She laughs as she sits beside him. “Someone get the glasses.”

Ian does, holding them for her to fill, then handing them around to everyone. Since Mandy and Lip are on the back bench, he's sitting along the side with Mickey.

“This tastes like piss,” Mickey says.

“Then just keep drinkin' until the taste doesn't matter any more,” Ian says. Mickey smiles at him, eyebrows raised. His eyes flick quickly over his face; the pale, almost invisible freckles, the strong line of his jaw, the lopsided quirk of his lips.

“Good idea, Red.”

They end up in a casino first of all, wandering among the slots and tables, breaking off from each other. Ian finds Mickey while he's playing cards, lingering quietly by his shoulder.

“Couldn't find Mandy or Lip,” he says quietly. Mickey grunts his acknowledgement, then wins the table.

“Thanks boys.”

“Stay for another game.”

“Nah, know how to quit while I'm ahead.” He scoops up the chips and rattles them at Ian. “Gonna help me blow these?”

“Sure.” Ian holds out a beer for him.

“Man after my own heart.” Mickey raises his brows and smirks. More forward than he'd usually be, and much more flirty, but he's feeling warm and loose. He's far from home. He's here to have fun and forget about his life for a while. He's safe. It's Vegas. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. He can do what he likes here.

“That easy, eh?”

Mickey laughs and bumps his shoulder against Ian's, leading him to a craps table.

“You ever played craps before?” Mickey asks.

“Nah, but I've seen it in movies and stuff. Never knew that's what you called it.”

“Pick a number.”

“Ahh. Eight.”

“Eight made up of what?”

“Uhh. Two fours.”

“Right. Tricky one.”

“You can do it,” Ian says, touching Mickey's arm. Mickey laughs and shakes his head.

“Nah. I wouldn't bet on me. You throw them.”

“What? But I've never-”

“You know how to throw dice, yeah? Just throw them.”

Ian does. The dice lands on two fours. He jumps back, surprised but delighted. Mickey smirks at him knowingly. He's flushed in the face, mouth split wide by his smile. He bounces closer and pulls Mickey into a one armed hug, holding his beer up and cheering along with the table.

“What's happenin' here?” Mandy appears through the crowd, Lip in tow.

“Turns out Ed Sheeran here is a craps natural.”

“Eh, good job, man.” Lip slaps Ian on the shoulder. He ducks his head, but still looks pleased, meeting Mickey's eye and his smile softens. Mickey's stomach does a weird flop. He ignores it, downs half his beer, burps loudly.

“So which of you bitches is throwin' next?”

*

After the casino, they spend the rest of the night hopping from bar to bar, club to club, flashing their VIP passes wherever they go. Ian and Mickey end up paired together as Mandy and Lip are all over each other, constantly touching, laughing together, leaning into each other, flirting. Ian doesn't know how it's possible for two people to feel like a third wheel, but he's pretty sure he and Mickey are sharing the feeling. They're only in the second bar when they finally start kissing. Ian looks away. Mickey makes a gagging noise. They purposefully move to the next table.

“So, what brings you to Vegas?” Mickey asks. Ian pulls a face.

“My, ah, brother won a trip.”

“Right, that's how you got here, but, like, people come to Vegas to blow off steam and get away from shit, right?”

“Uhh, you don't wanna know. It's lame, and kinda depressin'.”

“Oh, go ahead, then. I love hearin' other people's depressin' shit. Makes me feel better about my life.”

“Uhh. Short version, my relationship ended suddenly and badly.”

“What's the long version?” Mickey leans forward, watching Ian with interest.

“Well, I threw a surprise birthday party for my boyfriend of ten months, and he arrived with his tongue in a woman's mouth.”

“Fuck off.”

“Mhm. So, all our friends got to witness him cheating on me. Except, get this, he says it's not cheatin', 'cause he's gay, and he was only sleepin' with a woman.”

“What an asshole. That's like if I punch him with my left hand. Can't say I hit him, 'cause I'm right handed. Still break the dick's nose, though.”

“Yeah.” Ian laughs. Rather than feeling freshly upset about it, he feels good to get it out, to have someone who's not obliged to pick his side still back him up. “But it's okay. He's not worth it.”

“The fuck's some chick got on you, anyway? Guy didn't know what he had.” Mickey's gaze flicks away and he takes a drink, trying to act casual about the statement, but the words warm Ian.

“What about you? Why're you here?”

“I just got fired.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“What did you do?”

“I was a bouncer at a club. They said I got too handsy with the drunken assholes. But it was just this one dude; he slapped this chick real hard, and that's not right, man. You don't hit girls. Anyway, wasn't so tough up against someone his own size. But I guess he threatened to sue or somethin' if they didn't get rid of me.”

“Fuck.” Ian frowns, his brow furrowing. “Sounds like a shit place to work. You'll find somewhere better.”

“Dunno about that. Made a lot of dumb mistakes as a kid, got a criminal record tailing after me like a dark cloud. Ain't a lot of respectable employers wanna take me on, y'know?”

“Yeah.” Ian sighs. “I know.”

“Well. That's enough depressin' shit for one night. Shots?”

“Fuckin' A.”

Mickey lines them up along the bar.

“This one's for everyone who's ever been dumped,” he says. Ian nods solemnly, and they down them together. A few others join in, a cheer of 'here here' as they also take drinks.

“This one's for everyone who's ever been fired,” Ian says.

“What's this last one for, then?”

“For Vegas?”

“For Las fuckin' Vegas, bitch.”

*

One of the clubs they end up in is dark, but all the lights are electric blue, giving it a strange kind of glow. It makes both Mickey and Ian's skin look even paler, and they hold their hands out in front of themselves, laughing at that. Mandy and Lip disappear onto the floor to dance, which is really just grinding against each other, while Ian and Mickey zig zag their way to the bar.

“I can't remember the last time I had an adventure like this,” Ian says, leaning close to Mickey's ear to be heard over the music. He can feel Ian's breath on his skin. He absently licks his lips.

“I'm not usually this fun,” he says back, pressing up on his toes to speak into Ian's ear.

“I dunno about that. You seem pretty fun to me.”

They do another round of shots and then make their way towards Lip and Mandy, dancing nearby. Ian tips his head back and moves his hips. He seems to fall into it naturally, his body automatically moving to the beat. Though maybe Mickey's too drunk to be a fair judge. Stylistically speaking, it's not particularly _good_ dancing, but visually, it's hot as fuck. He watches Ian with hungry eyes, doing little more than turning slightly at his waist.

“You're so stiff,” Ian says, moving closer.

“Not much of a dancer.”

“Move your hips.” Then Ian's hands are warm on his hips, his thumbs slipping beneath the base of Mickey's shirt as he starts to move him. His head is bowed, so close that Mickey can feel his breath on his face, can smell whatever sweet cocktail he's been drinking. “Like this.”

Ian presses his hips forward against Mickey's, and moves them together. Mickey's arms go round his neck, holding him for support as he lets Ian guide him. The corner of Ian's mouth is curled in a smile. His skin is slick with sweat. The light catches in his eyes and they fuckin' shine.

“I like you, Mickey,” Ian says.

“I like you, too.” As their hips press together, Mickey shifts, grinds subtly against him. Ian exhales sharply. It's a sound that goes straight to Mickey's cock. His eyes flutter shut, then there's a hand in his hair and pressure against his lips. Ian's kiss is both hungry but soft, firm and demanding, but not aggressive. Mickeys lips part eagerly beneath his, tongue pressing forward to explore Ian's taste. His own hands tangle in the red hair and he pulls Ian closer despite the fact their bodies are already pressed together, no space between them.

*

Ian doesn't remember a whole lot that happens after that.

He has patchy memories. They fade in and out, interspersed with periods of darkness. He remembers licking salt from Mickey's skin while they were doing tequila shots. First his neck, then the soft skin of his tummy. Remembers letting Mickey do the same, from his collarbone and the curve of his hip.

He remembers leaving the club. Remembers travelling somewhere else. Was Mandy crying? Why was she crying? He doesn't know where they were going, though. Maybe to get food?

He remembers a lot of kissing. Mickey's tongue in his mouth. Mickey's hands all over him. His cock hard in his jeans. Mickey pulling his hair. Mickey biting his lip. Mickey rutting against him. He vaguely remembers them being in an elevator. Sloppily making out. Then he'd turned Mickey around to face the mirror. Held a handful of his hair as he pressed the bulge of his cock against Mickey's ass, and whispered in his ear about how he was gonna fuck him good and hard. Remembers the whine that came from Mickey, and how it went right to his cock.

He had carried Mickey to his suite, Mickey wrapped around him like a koala and Ian clutching his ass. He thinks they might have had more drinks. Then they were in the jacuzzi bath. Doesn't remember who filled it, or whose idea it was, but he remembers jerking Mickey off while holding his ass suspended above one of the jets.

He has a very clear memory of looking out at the lights of the city, at the stretching expanse of the sky, of shouting into the night as Mickey sucked him off on the balcony.

Then they'd fucked on the bed. He has flashes of positions. They'd gone at it for a while, probably due to being pissed and having both already come. Mickey flushed and writhing, swearing as he pressed his hips back against Ian. Mickey riding him, thighs straining, muscles in his neck standing out, eyes screwed shut as he bit his lip. Clutching Mickey's hips, so hot and tight and fuckin' perfect around his cock. He can't remember how it ended.

He runs through this check list of bleary memories at 5:42am when he wakes in dire need of a piss and feeling like he might die from dehydration. He stumbles out of bed, takes a long pee, and drinks a full bottle of water. He's too tired, and still too drunk, to assess last night's events right now, so he just crawls back into bed beside Mickey, and swiftly falls asleep.

*

Mickey wakes with a splitting headache and a severe case of dry mouth. He sits up. The world tilts. His stomach does a queasy spin. He lies down again. The bed beside him is empty. His eyes flick to the floor. Some of his clothes, but that isn't his luggage. Right. Must be Ian's. They hooked up last night. He can't remember specifics, but he knows it was fuckin' good. Can still feel Ian when he shifts, what would be a pleasant tenderness if the rest of his body wasn't full of competing aches.

He rubs his hands over his eyes. As he lowers them, he sees a coloured heart beneath his right thumb. 'Mickey + Ian 4ever' written inside it in messy letters.

“What the fuck?” Mickey's brow furrows, and he squints at the heart. “Shit. Please be fake, please be- Thank fuck.”

As he rubs at his hand, the ink smudges and comes away. It's then that he notices the ring on his left hand. It's a cheap, tacky silver ring that absolutely screams Vegas; shaped like dice. He touches it. Turns it. It's on his ring finger, but he doesn't think much of it. Probably just a stupid joke. Ain't like people actually get drunk and hitched with strangers in Vegas.

Eventually, he braves standing up. When he's brushing his teeth he finds a note stuck to the bathroom mirror:

_Hey Mickey,_

_Went down for breakfast with Lip and Mandy. Didn't want to wake you. Come meet us once you're up._

_Ian_

Despite the lingering nausea, food sounds good. He tosses the note in the trash and goes to collect his clothes from the night before.

*

“Please tell me what I think happened didn't happen,” Ian says, dropping down across from Lip and Mandy. He is pale and sickly looking. Fucking and falling asleep with wet hair has caused it to dry out messily; sticking in every direction. There's dark shadows beneath his eyes, and he has an ill feeling in his stomach like he's on a rocking boat. Mandy and Lip look from him, to each other, then begin to sing together.

“Here comes the bride, all dressed in white!”

“Fuck.” Ian's head falls forward into his folded arms. “Say you're joking.”

“Sorry, bro.”

“You let us get married?”

“Wasn't like we were in any state to stop you,” Mandy says. “Not that you'd have let us. You and Mick were very determined.”

“Yeah, I asked were you sure and you told me to shut up, that you were certain, and this was, I quote: destiny.” Lip smirks. Ian feels a fresh wave of nausea.

“Is it real? Like, is it legal?”

“Oh yeah. One hundred percent.”

“Fuck.”

“Guess what happens in Vegas don't always stay in Vegas.” Mandy laughs, biting the corner of her toast. Ian groans.

“It's cool. You guys can just get a divorce when you get back to Chicago. Least you're not on opposite sides of the country,” Lip says.

“Could we get it annulled?”

“Maybe if you hadn't consummated the shit out of it.” Mandy winks at him.

“You could claim lack of awareness. Y'know, say you weren't in a clear state of mind, due to, uh, inebriation. Judge might swing it for you.”

Ian groans again. He fills a mug with coffee and takes a long drink, willing the throbbing in his head to settle down. This is difficult enough news to process without a hangover that's hit him like a freight truck. He only feels worse when he hears Mickey's voice.

“Ey. They got any pancakes in this joint?” he says. Ian closes his eyes. Mickey walks away, then returns with a stacked plate of pancakes and bacon. The only free seat is beside Ian, so he sits there and starts to pour syrup over his breakfast. “So, that was some night last night.”

“Yeah, certainly, uh. Some night.” Lip glances at Mandy and sniggers.

“Did you have fun?” Mandy smirks knowingly at Mickey over her mug. Mickey's eyebrows raise and he glares at them questioningly.

“The fuck's up with you two? And has anyone got coffee? I'm fuckin' dyin' for it.”

“Here,” Ian says, pushing his mug over to Mickey.

“Thanks, man.” Mickey smiles at him, automatic, flashes of last night coming back. Ian barely glances at him from the side of his eye.

“What's his is yours, right?” Lip smirks at Ian. Mandy laughs this time.

“Right. What the fuck is it? Just spit it out,” Mickey says.

“Why don't you ask your husband,” Mandy says.

“My- what?”

“We, uh.” Ian exhales heavily and presses his face into his hands, his next words muffled. “We got married last night.”

There is a long stretch of silence before Mickey snorts a laugh.

“Good one.”

“No, Mick, you did,” Mandy says.

“Legally,” Lip says.

Mickey looks at them blankly. Ian glances at him from the corner of his eye. Without a word, Mickey starts putting large chunks of pancakes into his mouth. Ian picks at his breakfast quietly, feeling tense and awkward at the table. He looks at Mandy and Lip with pleading eyes, but Mandy just shrugs.

“I- Uh. Bathroom,” Ian says, and flees.

*

Mickey finds him ten minutes later absently sticking quarters in a slots machine and pulling the lever without even glancing at the slot windows.

“Can I talk to you a minute?” Mickey says.

“Hm? Oh. Hey Mick. Yeah, sure.”

“Look, about this whole marriage thing. No offence, but that ain't my scene. So can we maybe-”

“Wait. Shit. Are you here to dump me?”

“Well, I-”

“No no, it's okay.” Ian holds his hands up. “It's fine. I was gonna suggest we get a divorce anyway.”

“Oh. Okay. Phew.” Mickey makes a show of wiping his forehead. “Good, 'cause, y'know. You, what you're lookin' for, I don't think we'd fit.”

“Huh. Why's that?” Ian's brow furrows.

“You just- You seem like you want the whole relationship thing. Picnics and dogs in little sweaters, and I ain't really that gay.”

“Right. You're _just_ gay enough to take a dick up the ass, but picnics are out of the question.”

“Okay. Bad phrasing. So, I'm gay, but I'm not like a faggot.”

Ian jaw tenses. His eyes narrow.

“But I am?” he says, voice low.

Mickey looks at Ian and realises, in his awkward rambling, he's said the wrong thing. As usual. He just wanted to cut Ian loose easy. He's not good at relationships. He's not someone people wanna stay with. He doesn't do the whole long term thing. One night stands, friends with benefits, booty calls; those, he can do. If Ian wants to keep in touch, he can be that for him, but not a husband. Not someone who can be in a relationship and not disappoint him. He shrugs, unsure how to answer without digging himself deeper.

Ian punches him in the face.

Mickey stumbles back with the force. His automatic response to getting hit in the face is to swing back. Ian growls as Mickey hits him, turning with the hit. Then he turns back and shoves Mickey away from him, breathing heavy.

“You're a fuckin' asshole, Mickey.”

“Well, you know how to pick 'em,” Mickey says, and instantly regrets it as he sees the brief flash of shocked pain in Ian's eyes. Then he's gone, back to Mickey as he storms away. Mickey sighs, picks up Ian's last stray quarter. He pushes it into the machine and pulls. He doesn't bother to look at the results, beginning to walk away himself. He's only taken a few steps when he hears ringing behind him. He glances back to see the JACKPOT lights flashing, and then people are cheering, and there's a crowd gathering.

 **$3, 000, 000** flashes across the top of the machine.

“Three million dollars,” Mickey says numbly. That's more money than he knows how to comprehend. He hears Mandy scream, and then she's catapulted herself on top of him.

“You won the jackpot!! Mickey!”

*

“Hey, what's going on?” Lip asks. Ian is staring at the display of flashing lights, stunned.

“The jackpot.”

“Shit, Mickey win that?”

“It was my quarter.” He looks at Lip, blinking slowly, not quite accepting it yet.

“Fuck, man.” Lip slaps him on the back. “Go get your prize then.”

Ian wanders across to Mickey, feeling slightly dazed, but surely their fight is irrelevant in light of this. He takes the other side of the cheque Mickey is holding up, flashing a dazed grin as cameras start going off.

“The fuck are you doin'?” Mickey looks across at him with a scowl.

“That was my quarter.”

“Okay? So I'll give you it back.”

“What? No. It was my quarter.”

“What's your point? I pulled the lever, I won. It's my prize.”

“You won using my quarter, on the machine I was playing.”

“Fuuuck off.”

“Look, it's cool, we can just split it, okay? One and a half million each. That's plenty.”

“The fuck would I share it with you for when it's all mine?” Mickey pulls the cheque away from Ian. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go find out how I actually claim this.”

Ian feels a slow rage start to rise inside him, but also a hurt. He thought they'd had a good night. He thought they were getting on well before their fight. Sure, getting married may not have been a brilliant choice, but- Wait.

“Hey, Mickey.”

“What?” Mickey looks back.

“We're married, remember?” Ian raises his left hand. “What's yours is mine, asshole.”

*

Mickey tries to argue that they were not of clear judgement when they entered into the marriage. That they'd only known each other a few hours, and they were inebriated for most of that, but somehow, Ian is able to produce several wedding photos and a fuckin' huge glossy canvas of them with the Vegas strip Photoshopped in behind them, both pulling dorky faces. Mickey is wearing a veil and Ian a pin on bow tie.

“Shit, I forgot I bought that,” he hears Mandy say behind him. He glares back at her. She shrugs defensively. “What? I wanted a souvenir of your wedding.”

Then there's the drunken video of Mickey hanging off Ian, looking at him like he put the fuckin' stars in the sky. Ian's arm around his waist, pressing a kiss against Mickey's hair.

“I'm gonna.... Provide for him,” drunk Mickey slurs. “And love him... and... provide for him, 'cause we're married.”

“Marrrried!” Drunk Ian cheers, and he can hear Mandy cheering along in the background, and Lip's low laugh from behind the camera.

The judge goes off on a lengthy spiel about hating their generation, with their instant gratification culture and drive thru McWeddings, and how they're destroying the sanctity of marriage (“not because you're gay, but because marriage is about love and commitment”).

“If I ever let you out of this marriage, I am going to make sure you've tried everything, and I mean everything, first to make it work. Do either one of you have a place to live?”

“I live with my family, your Honour,” Ian says.

“Is there free space?”

“Not a lot.”

“What about you, Mr Milkovich?”

“I share an apartment with my sister. We ain't got any spare rooms, either.”

“Your Honour.” Mandy stands. “I could find somewhere else to live.”

“Who are you?”

“Mickey's sister.”

“And you can find alternative residence for, say, six months?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, we have a hearth. I am freezing the money for the next six months and sentencing you two to six months hard marriage, and so I know you're sticking to the agreement, you'll have weekly marriage counselling. Now, listen to me. You're gonna do this, by my rules, or I am going to tie this money up in litigation that is so long, so protracted, so expensive that neither one of you will ever see a dime of it.” The judge nods and bangs his gavel.

“The fuck did you say you'd move out for?” Mickey hisses to Mandy once they're out of the court.

“'Cause I think it's a good idea.”

“Mandy, what the fuck??”

“Look. Just, give it six months. Give it a try. Even if you still want a divorce at the end of it, at least you might come out of it with a cute boyfriend.”

“Boy- I don't want a boyfriend.”

“Yeah. Right.”

“Anyway, he's not my type.”

“Mickey, even if you hadn't of already climbed that like a tree, you think I'm gonna believe that tall, funny and gorgeous ain't your type?”

“Since you're runnin' his fan club, why don't you fuckin' date him?”

“Ah.” Mandy puts her hand over her heart and mock swoons. “If only the best ones weren't all gay.”

*

“That's Mandy's room over there,” Mickey says, sullen. “She's got most of her shit out already.”

“Right. Thanks.” Ian nods and moves towards the door, looking around the apartment. It's a bit cluttered, but cleaner than he was expecting. He sets his box down at the foot of the bed and shrugs his bag off.

“I'll be out of your hair in a moment,” Mandy says, shoving the contents of a drawer into a bag. “Just a few last things to pack.”

“It's okay. I, uh, look, Mandy. I'm sorry about this.”

“Why?”

“Kickin' you out of your room-”

“I offered. Don't be sorry. I like you, Ian. My brother gives you any trouble, lemme know and I'll kick his ass.” Mandy grins and punches Ian's shoulder playfully as she passes.

“Hey Mandy,” says Lip from the door, holding more of Ian's things.

“Yo. I'm outta here. Have fun movin' in.” She breezes out, and they can hear her shouting to Mickey from the living room. “Yo, asswipe, remember to call me.”

“Fuck off.”

“Fuck you.”

“You gonna be okay here?” Lip sets Ian's box by the bed. Ian sighs and pushes a hand through his hair.

“Sure. It's only six months. I've survived longer in a house with Frank Gallagher.”

“That's true.”

“And I have a good incentive.”

“One and a half million dollars.”

“Yeah.” Ian nods. “One and a half million dollars. That's enough to get me through anything.”

*

Mickey sulks around in his bedroom even after Ian has moved in, so he doesn't have to accidentally bump into him, but when there's no sound in the joint areas, he dares to venture to the kitchen for cereal. Which is when Ian comes out of his room. Fuckin' typical. Mickey sets his box down and glances at him, feeling tense and defensive at having someone invade his space.

“It's the middle of the evenin',” Ian says, looking at the cereal box.

“So?”

“... Nothing. I, ah, was just gonna go get some groceries. You need anything?”

“Nope.”

“Right.” Ian looks at him for a moment, before shaking his head and leaving. Mickey glares at the door after he's gone. It's stupid. He knows it's stupid. It'll be easier for both of them if they could just co-exist for six months without arguments, but being around Ian makes him bristle with uncomfortable energy, and he doesn't know how else to get rid of it. Snapping and being argumentative is his go to.

The thing is, Ian is not, by any means, a bad flatmate. Fuck, he's a good deal better than Mandy. He's clean, he's mostly quiet, he doesn't leave long fuckin' hairs in the shower, he doesn't eat Mickey's food, never complains when Mickey eats his (even leaves leftovers for him sometimes), and he never argues over the TV channel. Not to mention his work schedule means that half the time he's not even around. Their set up is actually pretty sweet. Except for how infuriating he is.

Ian comes out in vest tops and loose boxers in the morning. He pads around the kitchen barefoot, with his hair sticking up like a fluffy nest. He makes pancakes, from fuckin' scratch. They make the kitchen smell amazing and he always puts Mickey out a plate without asking (because Mickey always says no, even though he loves pancakes). He puts his pull up bar in the doorway of his room and makes low grunts as he works out until sweat gleams on his skin. He comes out of the shower, wet and flushed, with just a towel slung around his waist. Once Mickey found him asleep on the couch in the middle of the afternoon, in soft, worn, comfy sweats that the elastic had gone in, and were consequently lying low on his hips. The position he'd turned in had pulled his shirt up, so the firm expanse of his stomach and the soft trail of hair beneath his navel were visible.

It all makes Mickey itch beneath his skin, makes his stomach twist, makes him restless as fuck. It's not the kind of straightforward lust he can just fuck out of his system, because he's already fucked Ian, that's what got them in this mess, and regardless of what Mandy suggests, it's not what either of them want now. He's just got to keep focused. On the money, not on Ian. He needs to stop fuckin' focusing on Ian.

*

Ian glances around the fancy office that they're sitting in, feeing kind of claustrophobic. It reminds him of the psych ward, even if it is cleaner, plusher, with an expensive leather sofa for them to sit on. It has the same feel. The same kind of framed degrees on the wall. His hand flexes nervously against Mickey's shoulder from where he's flung an arm around him, both of them trying to present the image of a married couple. Mickey leans against him, but his body is tense and stiff.

“So, Mickey.” Their counsellor, Dr Roberts, smiles warmly at him. “Tell me about your hobbies.”

“Hobbies?” Mickey looks confused. He glances at Ian like he thinks this is some kinda trap. “What, beside bein' married? Shit, I dunno. Hangin' out with Ian. Watchin' TV, listenin' to his day... Fuckin'. All that couple shit.”

Ian fights to keep his face straight and not close his eyes to block out how painfully fake that answer is.

“Mm. Okay. And Ian?”

“I, uh. Work a lot, which is pretty tiring, so I don't have a lot of free time. I like to see my family when I can, work out; I run when I can fit it in. Read a bit, not a lot.”

“Thank you, Ian. See, Mickey, that is what I wanted to hear, because I will not buy any of that bullshit you just gave me. If you want me to report back to the court that you're working on your marriage, I'm gonna need to see you actually working on your marriage. This is a very cute bit of acting, but I'm guessing you thought you could just ignore each other during the week, pretend to be loved up when you come see me, and everything would be fine, right?” She looks at them both, and Ian is sure they both look guilty as hell. “Won't work, gentlemen. Why don't you actually try talkin' to each other this time and we'll see where we stand in a week.”

“This is such bullshit,” Mickey says once they're out of the building. He pulls out a cigarette and lights up. “Total bullshit.”

“Yeah,” Ian says softly. “You know, we should know better than this. We're south side.”

“The fuck's that gotta do with anything?”

“Means we know how to play the system.” Ian holds out his hand. Mickey looks at him with a raised brow. “How about we just approach this like a business deal. Y'know, cooperate for six months, and then we both get a pay off. We can do that, right?”

“Right,” Mickey says, after a moment's hesitation, and he shakes Ian's hand.

*

Their new arrangement involves spending at least a little time together each day, trying to get to know each other so they're not caught out when their marriage counsellor questions them.

“Essentially, it's just like fooling immigration, right?” Ian says.

“Say that like it's a fuckin' walk in the park, man.”

“Well, plenty of people do it. Especially our side of the yards.”

“Right. So, I gotta know your birthday and family tree and shit?”

“I don't think she'll go so basic flash card with us. She knows we've just met. We're not expected to be as in depth as that.”

“Okay. So.”

“So do you even know what I do?”

“Some doctor shit?”

“No.” Ian laughs. “I'm an EMT.”

“The, uhh. Ambulance people.”

“Right. What about you?”

“Man, you know I got fired.”

“Exactly. So, what do you wanna do now?”

“I don't get a chance to do what I wanna do. I gotta go wherever they'll take me.”

“Okay, well... If you could do anything, no limits, what would you do?”

“Play video games and drink beer.”

“Within reason.”

“Shit, I dunno. I ain't good at anything. I guess I liked the idea of workin' with cars. Like, findin' scraps of the old classics and remodelling them. Used to collect pieces.”

“Okay!” Ian smiles. “So maybe in a garage then?”

“Hey, no, I said I like the idea of it. I don't actually know how to do it. Like, I can check water and oil and basic engine issues, but I don't know shit about mechanics. Ain't like there was anyone to teach me.” Mickey's shoulders tense; defensive and uncomfortable. He knows he's useless, but knowing it and having to openly discuss it are two different things. “Can we just fuckin' drop it. Tell me about your family. I'll see if I can remember all those fuckin' names.”

*

“Can I not take a dump in fuckin' private, please?”

“Sorry.” Ian turns sharply, hand to his eyes. “Why didn't you lock the door?”

“Why'd you just charge in here?”

“Because... The door wasn't locked.”

“It was closed.”

“It has a lock.”

“Can we not have this discussion right now, please? Close the damn door.”

*

“Ey, did you lift my sweatpants?”

“Yeah, they're in the dryer.”

“The fuck, Gallagher?”

“They've been lying there for two days, so I washed them for you, and some things you left in the bathroom.”

“I was gonna wear those.”

“And you can, once they're done in the dryer.”

“Whatever, Mary Poppins.”

*

“So,” Dr Roberts says, with her warm smile. “What did we learn about each other this week?”

“He doesn't lock the bathroom door when he's havin' a shit,” Ian says.

“He don't fuckin' ask before washin' my clothes and cleanin' my shit,” says Mickey.

“He doesn't stir his pasta when it's boiling, so it sticks to the bottom of the pot, and then he doesn't steep it, so it's hard to get off.”

“He has to wash the dishes immediately after he eats. Like it's a fuckin' cardinal sin to leave a plate in the sink.”

“Oh right yeah unlike you, who only washes dishes when you need something and there's none left in the cupboard.”

“Exactly. When I need it. What's the rush?”

“It's about hygiene and cleanliness.”

“Okay,” says Dr Roberts, interrupting their bickering. “Good. Now y'all are starting to sound like a married couple.”

*

“So, how would you feel about workin' in a bar?” Ian says.

“A bar?” Mickey looks at him, feeling suspicious. “As security?”

“Nah, as a bartender. I might be able to get you a job.”

“Where?”

“This bar my neighbours own. The Alibi?”

“No. Nuh-uh.”

“Why not?”

“That's south side. I ain't goin' back there to work. I'm not goin' anywhere my old man could find me.”

“Okay,” Ian says, and Mickey appreciates the fact that he neither pushes him on the topic, or pries into the reasons behind it. “Well, I could ask my sister if there's anything at her diner, but it'd probably be washin' dishes, which, I won't lie, is shit.”

“Yeah. Pass. The fuck you so eager to get rid of me for, anyway? You want me out of the way for somethin'?”

“What? No. I was just tryna help since you said you've got a problem with people takin' you on, that's all.”

“Well, I don't need your help. I'll get somethin' sorted. Don't worry, I ain't gonna be short on the rent or anything.”

“Mickey. That's not what I meant.” Ian touches his arm softly, just with his fingertips. It sends sparks over Mickey's skin and he almost recoils automatically. “I'm just trying to help. No ulterior motive.”

“There's always an ulterior motive.”

Ian sighs, withdraws his hand, and says no more on the subject.

*

“Hey. You doin' anything tonight?”

“I look like I'm doin' anything?” Mickey looks up from the couch where he's sitting in his boxers and a vest, playing a shooting game and eating Doritos.

“My crew from work are going for drinks in a few hours. You wanna come along?”

“You're... Inviting me out with your friends?”

“Yeah, well, they've been giving me loads of shit about meeting the hubby, y'know. They're pretty good people. Might take the piss a bit, but nothin' serious. But, uh, if you're busy it doesn't matter.”

“I'll come.”

“Yeah?” Ian smiles, surprised. “Cool.”

“We gotta act all husband-y?”

“Nah, they know what's up. I'll let them know you're coming.”

Mickey looks disinterest and guarded when they arrive at the bar, but Ian's so pleased he agreed to come at all that he passes no notice. His team already have a table, and they wave at the sight of him. Ian smiles and gives a little wave back. He glances at Mickey, then inclines his head in their direction. Mickey looks from them to Ian and gives a brief nod.

“Gallagher! You're late,” Rita says.

“Yeah, see, I notice you've picked somewhere that's only ten minutes from where you live. Some of us have got further to come,” Ian replies dryly, but he's smiling.

“Is this Mr Gallagher, then?” Sue asks with a grin, looking Mickey over. Her lack of subtlety gives courage to the rest of the table, and they look at Mickey as well.

“Actually, he took my name,” Mickey says after a beat, and everyone laughs.

“So, what are we callin' you now, Ian?” says Woody.

“Milkovich.” Mickey grins, his shoulders relaxing a touch, and Ian feels warm and settled.

“Alright, Milkybitch. You getting the next round in?” says Sue. Ian rolls his eyes but grins and nods, Woody coming with him to the bar to help carry drinks down. He brings Mickey a beer and Mickey smiles at him briefly, listening to Rita giving him a winning recommendation.

“...only, he's annoyingly stubborn, if I had one criticism.”

“Have any of you actually bothered to tell him who you are?” Ian's met with innocent expressions. He sighs. “Alright, Mick. This is Rita, my boss, as you may have guessed. Woody, Raoul, June, and Sue, usually my partner in crime.”

“He may be your legal husband, but he's my work husband.”

“He's stupidly charming,” says Rita. “If I were five years younger, I might have married him, too.”

“Only five?” Raoul says with a cheeky grin, and Rita throws a straw at him.

“Ian's been very hush-hush about you,” says Woody.

“Yeah, he never mentioned how handsome you were,” says June. Mickey smirks and side eyes Ian.

“You ain't been tellin' them how pretty I am, darlin'? Maybe worried if he started he'd never stop.”

Ian bumps Mickey with his shoulder, but he's still smiling and pleased. All things considered, the evening could be going a lot worse. Mickey could be sullen and withdrawn, but instead he laughs along with Ian's team, tells jokes and wins them over with his brash wit, adapts himself to fit among them. Ian has fun, and is feeling considerably more fond of Mickey by the time the night is over.

“He's not a bad one,” Sue says to Ian as they're getting ready to leave. “If you work things out, I approve of this one.”

“Think we're a bit beyond that, now.”

“You never know. You've heard about me and Joe.”

“You and Joe are on a different level,” Ian says, laughing. He circles the group, returning hugs, before he and Mickey step out onto the street. “Thanks for comin' tonight.”

“Thanks for invitin' me. Your colleagues are pretty cool.”

“Yeah.” Ian smiles. “Yeah, they are.”

*

“How was this week?” Dr Roberts asks, balancing her notepad on her knee.

“Pretty good.” Ian glances towards Mickey for confirmation, and Mickey gives him a small smile in response.

“Yeah. We went out.”

“Together?” She looks at them over her glasses.

“With my team from work,” Ian expands. “We go out for a few drinks every couple of weeks.”

“And you invited Mickey along?”

“Yes.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah, it was fun.”

“What about you, Mickey?”

“Yeah. I guess it was cool to see who Ian works with and shit. Hear about him from someone else.”

“Good. Very good.”

“It ain't that big of a deal,” Mickey says.

“It might not seem like it, but you're starting to take an interest in each other and your lives outside the marriage. That's progress, don't you think?”

*

When Ian comes out of his room at almost two am, he finds Mickey still sat on the couch.

“What are you doin' up?” he asks, yawning and rubbing at one of his tired eyes.

“Couldn't sleep,” Mickey says, then looks back at Ian. “You just up to piss?”

“Uh, nah. I had a bad dream.” He feels childish once he admits it, but it's true. A horrible, violent nightmare. Back in Basic, full of that same insistent paranoid terror that they were controlling him, out to get him, it was in the food or the water or maybe they were putting wires in him while he slept, but they wanted to brainwash him, make him their toy. Running and running but no matter how fast he ran they were always the same distance behind him, so close, so he stopped running and tried fighting instead, but there were so many, too many.

Mickey doesn't say anything, just produces a bottle of beer and holds it over his head. Ian hesitates for a moment, before coming closer and taking the bottle. Mickey shifts from his sprawled position on the couch to give Ian space, and Ian sits.

“What are we watchin'?”

“Some B-movie shit about a giant flesh eating worm that lives in the snow.”

“Okay,” says Ian. He shifts until his shoulder presses lightly against Mickey's, taking comfort in the contact. His eyes close briefly. Then he feels Mickey lean back against him, a soft but firm press. They watch the film in silence, shoulders together.

*

“Hey dickhead. Where's the hubby?” Mandy strolls into the flat, dragging a wheeled suitcase and drinking some kind of iced coffee drink, hair tied into a high ponytail and wearing oversized sunglasses.

“At work. How'd you get in here? Thought you gave Ian your key.”

“Nah, I got another one cut for him. Speaking of which, I'm gonna need my room back for a few days.”

“I was gonna give you my room.”

“Like I wanna sleep in your gross bed. Ian won't mind.”

“You can't know that.”

“Ian won't mind,” Mandy repeats with certainty.

Ian doesn't mind. Ian tells Mandy that's fine, she's fully entitled to her room, and he's happy to sleep on the couch. Mickey doesn't know how someone can be so pleasant and accepting after working a twelve hour shift as Ian can.

“Perfect. Thanks, Ian.” Mandy hugs him close and Ian holds her back, easy, like they've been friends for years. Mickey envies the casual contact between them. Much as he and Ian try to get along, he feels like there's always a current of tension running beneath their interactions, a live wire that's going to shock him if he accidentally grazes it. “How's things goin' with my brother? See he hasn't scared you off, yet.”

“Take more than that to scare me,” Ian says, with an easy smile. Mickey turns away before anyone catches him just watching them from the kitchen.

“Hey, ah.” Mickey stands over Ian later on, starting to arrange thin blankets on a couch that is too short for him. “It's okay. You can have my bed.”

“What? No way, Mick. I wouldn't put you out of your bed. I'll be fine here.”

“C'mon, man, that couch is way too short for you.”

“I slept in the tiniest bed for most of my life. I'll be okay.”

“I ain't arguin' with you.”

“I didn't realise we were arguin'. I said I was taking the couch, that was that.”

“Take the fuckin' bed, Gallagher. Don't make me kick your ass.”

Ian is quiet for several seconds before he nods.

“Okay. But only with you,” he eventually says.

“What?”

“I'll take the bed, but only if we share it.”

“What?!” Mickey's eyebrows ascend towards his hairline. “Why?”

“'Cause I don't think it's fair putting you out of your bed. So you either let me sleep on the couch, or we share.”

“Fine,” Mickey says, feeling flustered but trying his best to disguise it. “Whatever.”

He's already under the blanket by the time Ian joins him, both of them stripped down to boxers and tank tops. Ian turns off the light and moves through the dark. Mickey sense his hand on the bed, feeling his way up the duvet. The mattress sinks when Ian climbs in beside him, and even with the space between them, Mickey can feel the heat of his body. Even with the space between them, Ian feels very close.

“Night, Mickey.”

“Yeah, night.”

They start facing away from each other. Mickey lies, hyper aware of every shift, every movement, every creak of the mattress. He listens as Ian's breathing evens out, as he twists in his sleep. After a while, Ian rolls to face him, and Mickey can feel the gentle puffs of his breath against the back of his neck, the press of Ian's bare knee against the back of his thigh. His skin bristles, like he's touched the live wire and electric has sparked through him, sending the hairs on his arms and legs on edge. He swallows and closes his eyes, tries to think of anything else. It's only two nights. It's just sharing a bed. It's not a big deal.

He must sleep eventually, for the next time he's conscious, he has a strip of heat along his back. They've ended up pressed together during the night. Mickey's back against Ian's chest. Ian's arm draped over his waist, one hand lying against Mickey's hip. His nose is touching the back of Mickey's head, each of his breaths pooling hot at the back of Mickey's neck. He goes still in Ian's hold, feeling awkward. Then, hesitant, he lets himself relax, presses back into it. It's nice. Comforting. He feels warm and safe. He doesn't really get held, doesn't do cuddling, is really a wham, bam, thank you ma'am kind of guy, but it's nice to be wrapped in someone. To feel Ian solid at his back, sharing body heat. Mickey leans back into the embrace and closes his eyes again. It's alright. He can always just pretend they got tangled in their sleep.

*

When Ian wakes to the feel of a warm body against his chest, his first instinct is to cuddle closer. His arm tightens around their waist and he presses his body against their back, nosing at their hair. It takes a few moments for him to remember who it is he's actually spooning, but once he does, he doesn't pull away. He's missed this. He got so used to sharing a bed with Caleb, he didn't realise how much he missed waking up with someone until now. He takes a deep breath through his nose, breathing in the scent of Mickey, musky and more masculine than Caleb, who always smelled clean and fresh, and only very occasionally like smoke. Mostly he washed the smell of living away and kept himself cloaked in deodorant. Mickey smells more natural. It's nice. Comforting. A little arousing.

Nope, Ian thinks. Don't want to go there right now. He noses at Mickey's hair once more before gently untangling their limbs and slipping out of the bed. He finds Mandy at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and texting.

“Mornin',” he says.

“Hey Ian.”

“Have you had breakfast?” He yawns and opens the cupboards, glancing back at Mandy. She just holds up her coffee mug. “Want banana pancakes?”

“You cook?”

“A bit.”

“I would love banana pancakes.”

By the time Mickey comes through, the conversation between Ian and Mandy is flowing easily. She's been telling him about her time in Indianapolis, the girls she lives with, how one of them keeps stealing her food.

“I don't want to fight a bitch, but if she keeps stealin' my cereal I might just have to.”

Ian hands Mickey a mug of coffee without looking away from his frying pan.

“Thanks,” Mickey says groggily. Ian's learned he is not a morning person. “Those, ah, banana pancakes?”

“Yeah. Sit down. I'll bring you a plate when they're done.” He catches the flash of Mickey's smile before he moves to sit across from Mandy, who's already eating. Mickey reaches for her plate and she stabs him with her fork. “Fuckin' bitch.”

“These pancakes are amazing, Ian,” Mandy says. Then, quieter, to Mickey: “You should keep him.”

Ian hides his smile. He plates up more pancakes and brings a loaded plate to Mickey. After making his own breakfast, he joins the pair at the table, feeling at ease between them. He mostly just listens to them bickering and conversing between themselves, but he doesn't feel excluded. It reminds him of home.

“I'll get the dishes,” Mickey says, taking the plates from Ian when he starts to gather them.

“I don't mind.”

“You made breakfast.”

“You actually gonna do them?” Ian laughs as Mickey flips him off, then turns to Mandy. “Alright if I pop into your room quick to get some clothes?”

“Sure.”

He gets his clothes from Mandy's room and changes in Mickey's. Then he empties out his meds for the morning. Mickey comes in as he's on the last bottle.

“Shit, I didn't even knock to see if you were done changin'.”

“I'm dressed,” Ian says, putting his meds into one hand.

“What are those?” Mickey squints across at the tablets sitting in his palm. “You sick or somethin'?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit. Bad sick, or-?”

“I've got it under control.” Ian swallows the tablets with water, then stands. “I'll give you privacy.”

“Wait. What you sick with?” Mickey lifts one of the pill bottles and reads it. “Lithium. Who the fuck takes lithium?”

“People with bipolar disorder,” Ian says, calmly taking the bottle from Mickey and putting it back in his bag with the others.

“Oh,” is all Mickey says.

That night when Ian turns out the light and climbs into bed, Mickey is on his phone. He turns it off once Ian's beside him, but not before Ian catches a glimpse of what he was searching. Bipolar.

“You know you can just ask,” he says quietly. Mickey goes still, tense at being caught. Ian hears the clatter of him sitting his phone down.

“I just wanted to know what it was.”

“Well if you have any questions, I'm probably more reliable than Yahoo Answers.”

“It was WebMD, actually.”

“Even worse.”

Mickey huffs a laugh. Ian smiles. They both settle into the bed, and there's several minutes of silence before Ian speaks again.

“It's not a big deal,” he says softly. “I'm managing it.”

“Okay,” Mickey says, and leaves it at that.

*

When Mandy leaves she hugs Mickey tight.

“Ian's way out of your league. You should try and make it work.”

Mickey rolls his eyes, shoves her away, and flips her off. He doesn't disagree, though. Ian is way out of his league.

*

They're walking to the grocery store. Mickey now tags along to help out, rather than leaving Ian to haul all the bags home himself. It's on their way that they pass him.

“Ian,” he says, waving as he steps in front of them, blocking their path. Ian's shoulders tense, his body language defensive. Mickey looks to him questioningly, but he can't look away from the man in front of him. “Haven't seen you in ages.”

“Caleb,” he grits out, sounding pained. “Mickey, this is Caleb. My ex. Caleb, this is Mickey-”

“His husband,” Mickey cuts in. Ian feels the warmth of his hand as he slides it into Ian's, joining their fingers. Mickey smiles at Caleb, but there's an edge to it, cloaked violence. Ian squeezes his hand. Mickey squeezes back.

“Husband?” Caleb raises his brows. “Wow, that was quick.”

“Yeah.” Mickey looks at Ian with a dreamy smile, a look that Ian has never seen before. “When you know, you know, right? Thank you, by the way.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You didn't see what you had, but if it weren't for you bein' such a complete and utter asshole, we'd never have met.” He rubs Ian's arm, and Ian feels warmth flow from beneath his touch. He tries to disguise his smile.

“Ian, look, I'm sorry about-”

“Don't. Don't apologise. It's over now,” Ian says.

“Yeah, it is,” Mickey says. He's still smiling, but it looks dangerous again. “You're over, Fireman Sam. So you'd better stay away from Ian, okay? Don't talk to him, don't come near him, and if you see him on the street again, you better look the other way and keep on fuckin' walkin'. Capiche?”

“Is he serious?” Caleb's brow furrows, and he looks from Mickey to Ian. “You can't tell me-”

Before he has the chance to finish, Mickey steps away from Ian and punches Caleb in the face. Ian's lips part in a brief moment of shock, but then he's fighting down another smile as Caleb stumbles back, hand to his bloody nose.

“He hit me,” he says, dumbly, aiming his words at Ian.

“Yeah, but only with my left hand, so it don't count,” Mickey says. Ian snorts a laugh. Mickey takes his hand again, tugging him along. “C'mon, Ian. Let's go.”

Ian lets Mickey guide him away, sparing one last amused glance at Caleb.

“You didn't have to do that,” he says when they're out of hearing range. Mickey gives his hand a brief squeeze before letting go.

“Yeah, I did.”

*

“Okay, so, I've got something,” Ian says, dropping his bag by the couch and leaning over the back of it. Mickey looks at him upside down, frowning. “You said you wanna work with cars, right?”

“I didn't exactly-”

“Right. Well, Woody's uncle runs a garage, and he could take you on as an apprentice. So you'd learn on the job. I dunno if he'd pay you at first, and the money probably won't be great if he does, but, I mean, I can help with bills and stuff for now-”

“Wait-”

“And then when you get your one and a half million, you can invest some of it in yourself. Maybe start your own business or something, like buying old classic cars and fixin' them and sellin' them on, y'know?”

Mickey feels an excited flutter in his chest at the idea, but he quickly shuts it down. That's too good for him. He'd fuck that up, doubtlessly.

“I dunno.”

“Just go talk to him, okay? What's the worst that could happen?”

“I probably ain't gonna be any good at it.”

“I bet you are,” Ian says, then with a little smile, he puts his hands on Mickey's shoulders. Mickey's chest flutters with an entirely different feeling this time. “I'm bettin' on you, Mick.”

*

Ian did not realise the flaw in his plan. Did not realise working in a garage would mean Mickey coming home in sweaty tanks, grease stained, the dirt on his arms only serving to shadow and emphasise the muscles there. In faded, ripped old jeans he doesn't mind getting dirty that hug his ass in just the right way. With his hair slicked back but ruffled from where he kept running his hand through it. It's like he walked straight out of a softcore porn magazine.

“The fuck you lookin' at?” Mickey asks, and Ian realises he's been staring, realises his jaw is slightly slack.

“Nothin,” he says quickly. “Meds make me a bit spacey sometimes. Sorry.”

Mickey softens visibly, and Ian almost feels bad for how quick and easy the half-lie came. Almost. His meds do make him spacey, sometimes. That's just not why he's staring.

“How'd your day go?”

“Yeah, good.” Mickey's face lights up with a kind of genuine joy and interest that is so rare to him, and it is Ian's turn to soften. “I actually got to do shit today. Like, actually touch the cars.”

He spends a good ten minutes talking animatedly about his day. Ian doesn't understand everything that he's saying, but he listens all the same, smiling and nodding along. Mickey is so bright and energetic, so different from his usual reserved, grumpy self. Ian is delighted he's contributed to bringing this out in him.

“Sounds like you had fun.”

“Yeah.” Mickey's expression falters slightly, like he's just become aware of how much talking he's done. Then he smiles, softly. “Yeah. I did. Uh, thanks. For settin' it up.”

“Sure.” Ian smiles back, then steals a glance at Mickey's ass as he heads for a shower.

*

Mickey stirs. There are hands on him. They start at his hips, firm and solid, then travel up over his body. A palm stroking over his stomach. Fingertips ghosting over his nipples until he squirms, then toying with them, lightly pinching. He lets out a breathy exhale, then inhales sharply when one of the hands tangles in his hair and yanks his head back. Something firm and hard presses against his ass. Lips brush along his neck, mouth parting, a tongue painting a hot, wet strip over his pulse point.

“Ian,” he moans, soft, almost lost beneath their breathing. He doesn't have to see him to know. Ian nips at his shoulder, then thrums his tongue against the skin at the base of his throat. Mickey squirms, feeling delicious heat in his stomach. “Ian.”

“Shh.” Ian's voice is low and soft. His breath is warm against Mickey's ear. Then his hand is on Mickey's cock, stroking firm. “Let me take care of you.”

His hips roll forward against Mickey, and this time he is very aware of the hard line of Ian's cock. Ian rubs it between his cheeks a few times and Mickey's eyes fall shut, anticipating. He feels the slight stretch, the vague burn, the long push of Ian entering him, and then they're together, Ian's hipbones pressing against his ass, Ian's chest a strip of heat along his back. Mickey rolls his hips back, panting.

He's still panting when he wakes alone in his bed. His skin is covered in a light sheen of sweat. His hips are pressing up of their own accord, short little thrusts. His cock is hard and throbbing between his legs.

“Shit,” Mickey says, voice little more than a sigh. He stares blankly into the dark for several seconds before he sighs again and puts his hand down his boxers.

*

“I think I'm getting a crush on my husband,” Ian says, not looking up from cleaning the floor of the rig. He doesn't have to to know Sue's head snaps up, or to feel her eyes on him.

“What?” Sue, who always makes a point of asking about Mickey, sounds delighted. “Didn't you always have a crush on him? Isn't that what started this mess?”

“No. It's different.”

“Different how?”

“I mean, I liked him before. He was... Well, hot.”

“Mhm,” says Sue, with feeling. Ian's lips quirk in a smile even as he rolls his eyes.

“But now it's like, him, as a person. Like. Personality and stuff as well.”

“Shit, Gallagher. You got a crush or you fallin' in love?”

Ian looks up with some surprise. Sue looks back at him with a grin.

“It's- I- No. It's just a crush.”

“Riiight.” Sue smiles, secretive and knowing. “Maybe if you get married again I'll actually get an invite this time.”

*

When Mickey comes home from work, there's a strange black child sitting in his kitchen. He looks at him with some surprise. The child looks back. He regards Mickey with a neutral expression over his juice box. He sits it down carefully on the table before he speaks.

“You're dirty.”

“The fuck are you?” Mickey says, alarmed, then he shouts: “Ian!”

“Just a sec.”

Mickey hears the toilet flush, then the sound of running water. While he waits for back up, he continues his stare off with the child, who looks back, unafraid.

“I'm hungry,” he informs Mickey, like he should be doin' something about it, just as Ian comes out from the bathroom.

“I'm gonna make dinner now, buddy.” Ian looks to Mickey with a brief smile. “This is my brother, Liam. Everyone's busy, but I'm off for the weekend, so I said I'd watch him.”

“Liam's _black?_ ” is all Mickey can say. He knows of Ian's younger brother, but always assumed he was white.

“Yeah. DNA results say he's our parents, though, so we dunno, either.” He pats Liam on the head as he's passing him and Liam smiles at him brightly. Mickey can relate. He's sure he probably looks at Ian like that sometimes, too. “Will you be in for dinner? I was gonna make lasagne with hand cut chips.”

“Uh, yeah. Sounds great.”

“Cool.” Ian smiles. “And, you don't mind if Liam stays, right? He's pretty quiet.”

“Yeah. Course he can stay.” Mickey glances at Liam again, who looks at him with shy, solemn eyes. “Hey, little man. I'm Mickey.”

“You're dirty,” Liam says again.

“Yeah, I'm just back from work, but I'm gonna get all cleaned up now, okay?”

Liam smiles and nods. Mickey leaves to shower and change. When he comes back, he opens a beer and sits across the table from Liam. Ian is fluttering around the kitchen, preparing dinner. Liam's bent over the table with a look of deep concentration. He's got a dinosaur colouring book open in front of him, some of the colours darting outside the lines where his hand has gone shaky, but mostly done with care.

“You're really good at colouring,” Mickey says. Liam glances up and offers him a shy smile. “I like this one.”

Liam turns his book so the page he hasn't started on yet is closest to Mickey. Then he lifts one of his crayons and holds it out in offering. Mickey tentatively takes it from him. Liam smiles and goes back to colouring. After a moment, Mickey starts on the other page. They sit in a comfortable silence, both of them focusing on their own page until Ian has Liam put the book away so he can serve dinner.

*

Ian smiles when he comes back from his run to find Liam and Mickey cuddled together under a blanket on the couch, watching early morning cartoons. He hadn't expected Mickey to be good with kids, but since Liam had slowly started to come out of his shell, he'd taken a huge shine to Mickey. Mickey, in turn, had seemed surprised but pleased, and put in a significant effort to ensure Liam continued to like him. If nothing else, his efforts had succeeded in winning Ian over even more.

“Mornin', buddy.” He leans over the back of the couch and kisses Liam's head. Liam laughs, but doesn't look away from the TV.

“Where's my kiss?” Mickey says, with a cheeky grin. Ian feels tingles burst through his chest, and his stomach tightens. Then, smirking, he leans over and kisses Mickey on the forehead. Mickey looks briefly surprised, then grins again. “That's better.”

“Breakfast time?” Ian says, distracting. This time he's met with two smiling faces and two cheers of agreement. “I'll take that as a yes.”

When it's Liam's time to go home, he's distraught at leaving Mickey, clinging firmly to his legs.

“I'll never ever see you again,” he says, tearfully.

“'Course you will, little man. You can come visit anytime. Hey, maybe I'll even come visit you sometime, or you, me and Ian can go do something fun, like catch a movie or get ice cream, okay?”

The promise of future delights seems to settle Liam. He sniffs and nods. Then he reaches up for Mickey, who sweeps him in his arms and spins him three times, before hugging a giggling Liam to his chest.

“You behave yourself, now,” he says, setting him down again to take Ian's hand.

“Bye, Mickey.” Liam glances over his shoulder as they're leaving and gives a little wave.

“Do you like Mickey?” Ian asks, once they're out on the street.

“Lots and lots and lots,” Liam says.

“Yeah,” Ian says, and thinks, _me too_.

*

“How are things?” Dr Roberts asks.

“Good,” Ian says, genuine. Mickey smiles at him, stealing a glance from the corner of his eye. “They've been going really well.”

“Yeah,” Mickey agrees.

“You've been getting along okay?”

“Yeah, actually. I think we're settled, now. We've learned how to live with each other, how to, uh, deal with our... Quirks.” This time it's Ian who steals a glance at Mickey. Mickey catches him. They both smile. “How to compromise.”

“That's good.” Dr Roberts smiles, watching their exchange, but Ian is barely aware, most of his wandering attention on Mickey. “And where's the relationship at?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, have you been romantically engaged at all?”

“Are you askin' have we fucked?” Mickey asks, feeling a flush rise in his neck.

“No. Well, more than that. Do you have any romantic relationship?”

“Not really,” Ian admits, quiet. “We're mostly just like flat mates.”

“But the attraction's still there.” She doesn't phrase it as a question. Mickey feels defensive panic rise in his chest, like she's about to give away his secret.

“Yes,” he hears Ian say. It sounds very distant. He can hear his blood rushing loud in his ears.

“What?” He turns to Ian, dumbly, gaping, surprised. Ian shrugs.

“I never stopped being attracted to you.” He says it with confidence, unashamed. That surprises Mickey as well. That Ian can so openly admit his attraction to Mickey, like he's proud rather than embarrassed. He swallows. “I don't know about you.”

“Yes,” Mickey blurts, panicked. His eyes flick between Ian and Dr Roberts. “There's still... Attraction. Whatever.”

“Have you thought about acting on it?”

Mickey stares at her hard. Then he looks at Ian, who has his gaze averted, a light blush on his cheeks. Neither of them speak. Mickey's heartbeat feels very loud. He's suddenly concerned they all must be able to hear it.

“Maybe something to consider,” says Dr Roberts.

*

“You wanna go get a drink or somethin'?” Mickey asks when they leave the office. Ian looks at him in surprise.

“Just us?”

“Yeah. Just us.”

“Uh, okay, but... Can we just grab some beers and go home? I don't really feel like being surrounded by people.”

“Sure.”

“We can get some snacks, maybe order a pizza, watch a film or something.”

“Sure,” Mickey says, sounding happier this time. He smiles at Ian. “Sounds good.”

They get changed into comfy sweats, order pizza, and stick on a film. By the time it's over the pizza box is empty, there's a collection of beer bottles around the couch, and Mickey's somehow ended up leaning against the arm of the couch with his feet in Ian's lap as they pass a joint back and forth. Ian lazily rubs his thumbs against the sole of one of them, his head resting against the back against the couch cushions. He looks at Mickey with a hazy smile.

“So what are you gonna spend your half of the money on?” he asks as Mickey crushes the butt of their joint.

“What?” Mickey looks at him, startled.

“The money. What are you gonna spend your half on?”

“We don't discuss the money.”

“I know, but I was just wonderin'-”

“Yeah. 'Cause that's all this is to you, right? Just a business deal.” Mickey huffs an exhale through his nose and pulls his legs away from Ian, getting to his feet. Ian blinks at him slowly, feeling heavy and confused.

“What?”

“You say all that shit about bein' attracted to me or whatever in therapy, but that ain't what this is about. You're only here 'cause of the money. Ain't no other reason you'd still be here, ain't no reason you'd stick around.” Mickey moves from the living room towards his bedroom. Ian gets to his feet and steps after him.

“Mick, wait, no.”

“Yes, Ian. I was just- Just some kind of rebound. If it wasn't for the money and the fuckin' marriage, you'd never have seen me again. Shit, if it weren't for you getting dumped and the mix up with the rooms, you'd never have fuckin' looked at me twice to start with. You were drunk and upset and I just happened to be there, right?”

“No. Jesus Christ. Where is this comin' from?”

“Fuckin' common sense. You think I'm stupid? You think I don't know? Guy like you, you wouldn't even look at me twice. You wouldn't-”

Ian doesn't hear whatever else he wouldn't do, because it's then that he moves forward and kisses Mickey, hard, gripping the side of his head firmly between his hands. Mickey's words make his chest ache, make everything feel tight and uncomfortable, make it difficult to breathe. He kisses him hard and tries to push all the feeling he can muster into it, but Mickey just pushes him away, stumbling back.

“The fuck are you doin'?” His eyebrows are raised. His eyes are shockingly blue, pale and icy and distant, but so wide. Frightened looking.

“I'm kissin' my husband,” Ian says, moving to do so again. Mickey puts a hand on his chest.

“Why?”

“Because I _want_ to.” He presses closer, frustrated that Mickey is stopping him. Mickey regards him only briefly, before any resolve seems to melt away, and he presses forward into Ian's arms with the same amount of urgency. Mickey kisses hot and open mouthed, his tongue pressing insistently into Ian's mouth, claiming. He grasps Mickey beneath his thighs and lifts him, stumbling towards a bedroom, any bedroom, doesn't matter at this point. They hit the wall a few times, Mickey grunting into Ian's mouth as his back takes the impact, but then they're stumbling into Mickey's room, Ian falling over him when they hit the bed.

“Wait, wait,” Mickey murmurs, and Ian's heart obeys, seeming to pause in its beating. It resumes again when all Mickey does is turn on the lamp and start pulling off his shirt. Ian mirrors him, flinging his own across the room and moving to kiss Mickey's shoulder, his chest, to thumb over a nipple. Mickey breathes low and hot against his cheek.

“Yeah, we met at an unideal time,” Ian says, his words low but swift, trying to get them out before Mickey stops him, trying not to distract from the heat and urgency between them. Even as he speaks he's tugging at Mickey's sweatpants. “Yeah, I'd just had a shitty breakup, and yeah, we might not have met if they hadn't of fucked the rooms up. But however we met, I would have noticed you.”

Ian pulls hard at Mickey's waistband, knocking him back as he drags his pants over his knees. Mickey exhales heavily, looks up at Ian intently, pupils widening.

“You're hot as fuck, Mick. With those arms, and that ass, and your fuckin' eyes, and the little smile that only comes out when you're really happy, and your fuckin' tongue. I thought you were hot since I saw you, and it's been drivin' me mad bein' near you all this time and not bein' able to touch you.” To emphasise his point, Ian drags his palm over the front of Mickey's boxers, grinding it down against the bulge of his erection. Mickey pants and rolls his hips against the touch. “Except now I know you as well. Now I've got to like you for more than how you look.”

“Bullshit,” Mickey says, so quiet Ian almost doesn't hear it.

“No.” Ian kisses Mickey hard, trying to make him understand. “You can think what you want about yourself, but don't tell me what I think. Even if you don't want this. Even if you want to do the six months and then never see me again, fine, but don't tell me how I can and can't feel.”

“Ian.” Mickey sounds breathless and lost. His hands clench at Ian's shoulders. “Ian.”

“What, Mick?”

Mickey shakes his head, and drags Ian in for another kiss. They kiss heatedly, struggling out of clothes as they do so, neither of them wanting to break away, wanting to leave any space between them. Mickey's fingers tangle in Ian's hair and hold tight. Ian's hands trail over Mickey's skin; along his shoulders, tracing his shoulder blades, down along the line of his spine, palms gliding around his sides, fingers on the soft skin of his stomach, which is when Mickey squirms beneath him.

“Are you ticklish?” Ian smiles against Mickey's mouth.

“Fuck off.” Mickey's breathless and flushed. Fuckin' beautiful. Ian kisses him, and kisses him again for good measure, then starts to kiss his way down his body. He dots light kisses along the side of his neck, teasing, before he mouths hotly, thrumming his tongue against the pulse point. Mickey scratches lightly at his back. It only drives him on. He nips at Mickey's collarbone, then sucks a bruise there. He dots kisses down Mickey's chest, stopping to lick at a nipple. He nuzzles his face into the soft skin of Mickey's stomach, noses at his happy trail. He sucks another bruise at Mickey's hip. Then his mouth is on Mickey's cock, licking a strip along the underside before he takes it on his tongue and hollows his cheeks around it.

“Don't make me come yet,” Mickey says after five minutes, clutching at Ian's hair. “Want you to fuck me.”

Ian's cock throbs. He looks up at him with pupils blown, his cheeks still hollowed around Mickey's cock. He presses down, takes it all the way to the back of his throat and then hums around it. Mickey's head falls back, the line of his throat taut. His hips try to press up but Ian holds them in place. Slowly, he pulls off with a soft _pop_.

“Okay, Mick,” he says softly, pressing one last kiss to the tip of Mickey's dick. “I'll fuck you.”

*

Ian's fingers are so fuckin' long and perfect, pressing deep into Mickey, deeper than he could ever finger himself. He's got three in now, and Mickey feels stretched and full, twitching in pleasure every time Ian strokes against his prostate, which is often. He watches Ian through hooded eyes. His whole body feels flushed and sensitive, humming with their own electrical current of pleasure. He tries to memorise every sensation. If this is only a one off, he wants to cherish it this time. Wants it to be a memory he can go back to.

Ian twists his fingers and Mickey bites his lip hard, but the whimper comes through all the same, hips trying to lift and press back at the same time. He pants, open mouthed, tongue pressing at the corner of his lips.

“Ian.” It's more exhale than word; like a whispered pray, like a desperate plea.

“Ready?” Ian says, and Mickey is so grateful he understands, so grateful he does not have to waste words on Ian. He nods, and watches as Ian slides a condom on and lubes himself up. His cock is fuckin' majestic and Mickey's ass throbs in anticipation. He spreads his legs a little wider. Usually he hates to look at whoever is fucking him, but with Ian, he doesn't want to look away. Doesn't want to miss his face as he pushes in, the flush of his skin as he fucks into him, the way his muscles go taut and his eyes close against the effort, his expression when he falls apart.

He doesn't know exactly when he fell for Ian Gallagher. He can't remember it happening, hadn't really realised it until now, but as he willingly opens himself up for him, he knows. He's gone; completely and utterly lost to this funny, charming, dorky, stubborn ginger asshole who slide tackled into his life on a Vegas drinking binge. His accidental husband who is way out of his league. In this moment, a divorce is the last thing Mickey wants. He wants to keep Ian tied to him forever.

Then Ian pushes in, and any coherent thought is gone. All he can focus on is the stretch, the burn, and it does fuckin' burn. Ian is so big Mickey is sure he feels every inch. It's not particularly painful; Ian took care to prep him well, but it's noticeably uncomfortable at first. Ian is considerate as ever, stopping once he's all the way in, hips pressed to Mickey's ass. He peppers light kisses over Mickey's face, meets his lips in sloppy, open mouthed kisses that make Mickey's stomach feel full of pleasant, liquid heat. He waits until Mickey starts to press down against him before he slowly starts to withdraw. Then he thrusts in again, quicker this time.

Mickey's eyelashes flutter and he moans, low and deep in his throat. On each thrust Ian gains more speed, until he's pounding into Mickey just right, fuckin' perfect, causing white dots to spark before his eyes. Mickey pants, open mouthed, all kinds of whimpers and moans he'd usually be embarrassed about falling from his lips, but he's powerless to stop them with Ian fuckin' him so good, so perfect.

“Fuck, Ian, yeah, just like that,” Mickey pants.

“So tight, Mick.” Ian leans closer, pressing their foreheads together. “So tight and hot around me. So fuckin' good.”

Then it's just sounds. Their laboured breathing. Ian's grunts and moans. The sound of skin on skin. Then he lifts Mickey's knee, presses it close to his chest, rests his calf on Ian's shoulder, and suddenly it feels like he's so much deeper. It's then he starts hitting Mickey's prostate. Not on every thrust, but enough to have him trembling beneath him.

“Touch yourself,” Ian says, voice hoarse with arousal. “Touch yourself for me, Mickey. Wanna see.”

Mickey can't argue; not with that tone, or with his own approaching orgasm. He reaches down and starts stroking himself, quick and needy. Ian groans at the sight and seems to pound into him harder, shaking with the effort, muscles quivering. Mickey comes first, and he feels it through his whole body, feels tingly and numb all the way to his fingers and toes. Ian isn't far behind, coming with a strangled grunt before his hips slow. He hovers over Mickey, panting hard. Mickey just lets his head fall back and his eyes close.

Ian eventually pulls out. He disappears, and Mickey feels cold and alone, but he's back soon enough with a cloth to clean Mickey up. When he's done, he climbs into bed beside him, wraps Mickey in his arms and presses a firm kiss to his temple. Mickey feels safe and warm and cared for. It's a foreign feeling. He could get used to it. They lie in comfortable silence for a while, and Mickey's starting to drift off when he stirs.

“What are you going to spend your half on?” he says. Ian jolts beside him, as if he, too, had been falling asleep.

“Hm?”

“The money.”

“Oh. I dunno. Help my family, I guess. They already own the house, but maybe I could help with some of the kids going to college.”

“Okay, but what about for you, though?”

“Get a car, maybe. Be nice not to have to wait for the bus or the train all the time. Maybe my own house. It'd be a good back up, as well. In case anything happens. Like, Fiona's been talkin' about kickin' Debs out now that she's got the baby and can't pay her share of the bills, so I could be a safe place for the kids to come to.”

“Yeah, okay.” Mickey rolls over and props himself up on his elbows, facing Ian. Ian's face looks younger in the soft light of the lamp, his sweat damp hair falling forward over his forehead. “But, like, let's pretend your family are sorted. You did everything for them, but you've still got loads left. If you could do something just for you, what then?”

“Hm.” Ian thinks for a moment, closing his eyes as he considers. “I guess I'd like to go travelling. Maybe on a road trip. See all the cities I never thought I'd see. San Francisco, New York, Washington... Even Vegas again. I never got to see the Grand Canyon.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And, I mean, I'd like to go to other places, too. Hawaii. Europe. All over. I never thought I'd get the chance to see the world. I think I'd like to, now that I can. Go on an adventure. Though, obviously, I'd also put a lot away into a good savings account. I don't want to squander it.”

“You're so boring.” Mickey sighs, smacking Ian on the chest. He chuckles warmly, laying his hand over Mickey's.

“What about you?”

“Guess I'd think about that business, if I got good enough with cars. I'd buy myself a fuckin' great car first, obviously. Maybe a couple. House with a big garage to keep them in. A real nice place. Maybe with a fuckin' pool.” He rests his chin on Ian's chest. Ian smiles, running his fingers through Mickey's hair. “”But, yeah, okay. I guess you're right. I'd try not to waste it all on stupid stuff.”

“You could come travelling with me.” Ian's voice is light, casual, like he doesn't want to sound too serious in case Mickey shoots him down.

“Yeah?” Mickey presses a kiss to Ian's jaw. “I'd like that.”

*

They end up fucking almost daily. They go back and forth between beds, sleeping in whoever's has the cleanest sheets. As another few weeks slip by, Ian grows even more attached to Mickey, but the doubts start blossoming in his chest. He's afraid of what's going to happen when the six months come to an end.

“Hey,” he says one night, his heart beating hard as he gathers courage for what he needs to ask. “What's gonna happen at the end of the six months?”

Mickey looks at him, eyebrows raised.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean... Are we gonna stop seein' each other?”

“I dunno, man.” Mickey goes a little tense. Ian rubs his shoulder automatically.

“I don't want to,” he admits, words muffled against Mickey's hair as he presses his face into it.

“You don't?” Mickey sounds surprised. Enough so that Ian pulls back to look him in the face.

“Of course not. What do you think this has been, the last few weeks? I like you, Mickey. I really do. I'd like to give this a shot, a real shot, not just for the sake of the court. And, okay, I get it if you don't wanna stay married, 'cause that's like a big commitment or whatever, but I'd still like if we could try... Us. Even if we go slower. Like, I can move out but we can still see each other.”

Mickey blinks up at him, looking surprised.

“I didn't think you'd wanna see me again.”

“ _Mickey_.” Ian takes his face in his hands and kisses him firmly. “What am I doin' that makes you doubt how much I like you? 'Cause I'm tryna make you see that.”

“I know.” Mickey shrugs, pressing a kiss to Ian's shoulder. “I just- I dunno. You're so... Everything. And I ain't-”

“You're fuckin' great,” Ian hisses with conviction. “I wouldn't change a thing about you. 'Cept maybe make you more into doing dishes.”

Mickey laughs and punches Ian on the arm, then curls closer to his chest again.

“I wanna try this too. And, uh, I guess if we're givin' it a shot the divorce ain't such a big fuckin' deal. I mean, we can always do it down the line if it doesn't work out, but, if you want, we could just avoid the fuckin' hassle now. If you want. Whatever.” Mickey averts his eyes, missing Ian's wide grin. He hugs Mickey close and dots kisses over is head.

“Yessss,” he breathes, nuzzling against Mickey. “I want. I do.”

Mickey snorts a laugh. He looks at Ian with his eyes crinkled in amusement.

“You do?”

“I do.”

“I do, too.”

“I do.”

“I do.”

“I do, I do, I do.”

 


End file.
